I realized I didn't write much on Saturday. So here's one, just for the sake of it.

You know you have a problem when your mom keeps telling you to dress more fashionably, even offering to pay for branded stuff. Yes, in addition to being insipid I'm also Scrooge-stingy, but that's for another entry. On another Saturday perhaps -- one can hope.

Take my cellphone, for example. When this entry is written -- one never knows -- I'm still faithfully using a Nokia 8250. A terribly worn out Nokia 8250. Well, I have the T630 my dad gave me, but after playing second fiddle to the 8250 for a few months, it now stays in its box.

My fav excuse is that it serves all purposes I have a need for: phone, SMS, address book, time, alarm clock, and reminders.

I don't need camera because I'm never a fan of cellphone-taken photos. If I wanna take pictures, I'll use a real (borrowed -- stingy, remember?) camera. Nor do I need polyphonic ringtones. I mean, it's cool to hear Sweet Child O'Mine everytime someone tries to reach you, but it's kinda hard to hear when you're on the MRT, as compared to the stone-aged monophonic tones. It's easier to hear what the guy next to me is listening to, through his earphones.

Same goes for clothing choices. The only three reasons I stop wearing something are a) it no longer fits; b) it's missing; and c) it's damaged beyond repair. Just the other day I realized I was wearing my Chicago Bulls tee from back in high school. I was like, dude! It was like, what, twenty years ago? All right, not that long ago, but certainly more than a decade.

BTW, whenever I allow my mom to tidy up my closet, chances are some 'old-fashioned' clothes would be found missing afterwards. Coincidentally, isn't English an interesting language? Found missing? If it's found, then it can't be missing, now, can it?

Oh, and I'm also known for dressing 'inappropriately' for occassions. I remember my mom once scolded me for proudly wearing an Indosiar t-shirt to classes. She was all, you look like one of those street hawkers, selling cigarettes and whatnot!

Looking back now, I think I see her point.

A bland guy I am. As friends from my generation are gradually starting to be sighted in smart trousers and shirts and pinstripes and what have you, I still comfortably show up in public in an old pair of jeans and a t-shirt -- though not the Bulls one, even I am not that eccentric.

As my generation starts to forsake their old barbers for queer-looking stylists, I get my own hair clipper. My mom -- that's the fourth reference to the lady in one entry, something's up -- has sternly made me promise to start growing hair a few months before the wedding. Oh well, I guess, that's the least a son can do.

All right. Gotta get going to the airport. And look what I'm in: a yellow t-shirt that says, "You can save me. Feed me" and has pictures of hunger-stricken children on it. While nobble, I think it's not the right attire.

I'll go change.

Current music: Vanessa Williams - What Child Is This?
Current mood: happy